


The Sun

by LadyTroll



Series: The Sun [1]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Headcanons ahead, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I wrote this because I read a poem, Not Canon Compliant, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, POV Ser Proletius, Please Don't Kill Me, dad Proletius basically, it's been in my WIPs document for more than 6 months, the regular GH disclaimer applies, we know zero things about XIII's dad so liberties were taken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: The first, second, and third time Ser Proletius met the thirteenth Crown Prince of Dundee.
Series: The Sun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000338
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	1. Child

**Author's Note:**

> Anybody else noticed how Angus switched from "I want to free the kingdom/universe" to "I want to be free" the moment there was nobody prodding him about destiny and important quests, and all that? No? Just me then?
> 
> ____________________________________
> 
> “Tell me how it is, being  
> the sun. You could walk  
> into a room and they’d  
> all be watching you.  
> They’d all get down on  
> their knees. I ask you  
> how it is, and you  
> say, “It hurts. It hurts.”  
> — R. Wright, “Sunlit”  
> (strangely enough, all my attempts to locate the original source of this poem led me back to tumblr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fists on the table* make Ser Proletius the meme of Crail! Let them just summon him whenever the army needs inspiration, or whatever. He's dead, it's not like he's got any say over when he can be summoned!

First time Ser Proletius had met the thirteenth Crown Prince of Dundee, it had been on a bright summer day when one wished to leave the gloomy walls of their citadel and indulge in regular summer activities.

The Epic, Mighty Battle just a week ago had resulted in victory, thus sealing the fate of yet another remote corner of the Galaxy, albeit that victory had been barely scraped from the claws of the enemy, and many people had laid their heads on the battlefield never to rise again, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of their friends, family, and superiors, and the king, Angus McFife XII, had hoped, with the help of the late Grand Master of Crail, to raise the morals among his men.

On the opposite to his father, the _Crown Prince_ of Dundee had been bothered very little by such issues. Of course, the same as everybody in the empire, he had borne and expressed his respect to those who had perished in the conflict, but a young heart like his did not wish to be brought down with the heavy burden of mourning, and Ser Proletius had met him in the inner courtyard where the Hologram Hero of Light had retreated to go over his speech one more time, before he had to stand next to King McFife XII in front of a crowd seeking some guidance or just a few words of consolation in these trying times.

***

The inner courtyard was a large outdoor area in the middle of the Citadel of Dundee that was kept ever-green throughout the year. Usually only accessible to the royal family and a few select staff members and the royal guard, it was a harbour of peace and tranquillity in the middle of the never-ending haste and agitation that ruled the Citadel of Dundee at any time of the day. Here, among paved routes, lively fountains, and blooming trees and flowers, it was easy to forget all the worries of the world outside. Marble sculptures of the McFifes’ ancestors stood around the perimeter, all staring at those present with empty eyes and regal expressions on their cold faces, and, behind them, a staircase spiralled up the wall all the way around the circle-shaped yard, connecting small balconies where exotic birds sat on the ornate railings with no fear of the people walking by whatsoever. High above the ground, there was a shimmering magical dome, which extended across the whole yard and controlled the temperature and sunlight, and even the precipitation, keeping the courtyard pleasant in all times of the year while simultaneously preventing the expensive, rare specimens of songbirds from escaping into the hostile world outside.

Even the Hologram Hero of Light had to admit that this place lulled a person into a sense of security, which perhaps was not as bad as people would think it was, for the royal family of Fife were almost constantly in the need of such feeling.

\- You’re Ser Proletius, right?

The late Grand Master of Crail almost sent the curious intruder away, before he noticed the similarities that the fourteen-year-old bore to the king. The Crown Prince of Dundee was, indeed, almost a spitting image of his father, save for the bird’s nest on his head that his attendants had apparently decided was an acceptable haircut and the overly lively look in his eyes, where his father had stone-cold steel.

It was only recently, at least in terms of his forcedly voluntary pseudo-immortality, that Ser Proletius was allowed to keep his memory. Up until Angus McFife XI, none of the wizards had been able to figure out how to help the Hologram Hero of Light to preserve the memories from the various times he had been summoned to the aid of the kingdom (later empire), and thus the late Grand Master of Crail awoke, every time, with no knowledge of the previous times he had visited, leaving him perplexed about the wonders of what people at those times called “moderns life”, among other things.

Be it as it were, he was certain that the prince, however, was, in his character, closer to the ancestor of his, whom Proletius had had the honour to call his friend almost a thousand years ago.

\- Yes, Your Highness, - the late Grand Master of Crail nodded, reverently so.

\- Oh, drop it! I’m not into all the courtesy crud! Just “Angus” is fine!

\- If you’d forgive me, Your Highness, it won’t be polite of me to address you on such familiar terms, - Ser Proletius bowed.

\- Fine, - the prince pouted, - “ _Prince_ Angus”, then. That good? 

\- Yes, Your— Prince Angus.

\- See? That wasn’t so hard! Oh, I am… see, here I am, standing in the presence of the greatest hero I’ve ever heard of, and… I had a whole speech planned out that I could say, but now it’s all gone, and I’m just… I’m blubbering, aren’t I? And I have no idea what to say!

The prince had a bubbly personality, indeed, the Hologram Hero of Light noted, as Angus went on about topics upon topics he wished to ask or speak to Ser Proletius about, and the knight was taken aback by it, to a degree, for he had not expected the descendant of the last two kings that he knew to be quite so chatty and easily excitable. Yet again, Proletius had not met them when they were of the prince’s age, so he could not really draw a comparison here.

\- It must have been great, to lead the charge of the Knights of Crail! To go into a glorious battle! – the prince stretched out his arms and spun on his heel a few times. – I bet there’s no feeling like it!

\- Have you ever been into battle, Y— Prince Angus?

\- No, - the lad looked at the late Grand Master of Crail over his shoulder, a big, charming smile on the young face. – I’ve studied our history, though! The Unicorn Invasion of Dundee must have been scary, wasn’t it?

\- I imagine no scarier than the regular problems wizards tend to cause, these days, Prince Angus.

\- Oh, yes, father says we’re plagued by them! Ser Proletius?

\- Yes, Prince Angus?

\- I’m wondering: are there things you hated doing? You know, back in the day?

\- I am afraid I don’t understand, Y— Prince Angus?

\- I hate weapon training! Father, and the Grand Master of the Spaceknights of Crail both say I must learn to handle weapons. Swords, axes, hammers, blasters, and so on, and so on! But all that I’ll need in battle once I’m king will be the Hammer of Glory! Why all the other things? And I hate my flying lessons, too! So, so much! It’s scary to think that the dragon could throw you off, and then you turn into a splatter on the ground! And those other studies! Old people talking for hours! I like history, and tactics! Oh! and music, too! But sciences and all that blather about economics? Bah! Luckily, they don’t stay in my head for long!

\- I am certain they just want you to know what every future ruler of the Dundonian Empire should, Prince Angus.

\- Well, when I’m king, that’s going to be the first thing to go! Imagine sitting in a dusty, dark classroom when it’s warm and sunny outside!

\- Indeed, - it dawned on Ser Proletius that it was suspiciously early in the day, for the prince to be outside, since most lessons normally tended to take place on the first half of the day. – Without a doubt a dreadful thing to do.

\- That’s what I’m saying! – Angus spun around on his heel again, before promptly plopping down on his back in a patch of grass in the middle of the courtyard, with that sealing the fate of his white trousers.

\- I am not sure your teachers will like that sort of a course of action, Prince Angus.

\- It won’t be up to them, to decide, will it now? – the prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath. – When I’m king, I’ll be free to do whatever I want, and I’ll want those boring lessons to go away!

\- What if you change your mind?

\- I won’t! – His Highness declared, stretching his arms out on the grass.

\- Angus?! – a voice interrupted him, and the Crown Prince of Dundee frowned, but sat up.

\- I am here, father!

King McFife XII was a tall, handsome man with short brown hair and green eyes that bore steel in them. There was an air of superiority about him, and his whole presence demanded respect from all and every creature he met, and, as he spoke, his voice was commanding both to servants and guards as well as his own family. The few staff members and guards present when he made his way into the courtyard bowed to him as the man walked by, and the king acknowledged their presence with a short nod of his head. The green-tinted light armour he wore around the citadel fit harmoniously with the green tones of the yard, and the cape flowing from his shoulders would have looked comically on anyone else; on the king, however, it had as majestic of an appearance as the armour did. Behind his back, there almost always loomed a large Unstian warrior with an unreadable expression on his bearded face and wild in every aspect of his appearance, a large prismatic battle axe on his back and a long knife at his side. As the king made his way into the courtyard, this leviathan of a man was left standing in the only door leading in and out of it. letting everyone know there was no going inside or leaving while His Majesty was there.

Ser Proletius bowed and was, just like the rest of people present, rewarded with a courteous nod of the noble head.

The king waited for Angus to shuffle to his feet, unmovable like the marble the statues around the yard were carved from, hands clasped behind his back.

\- Here I am! – the prince announced, as he stood in front of his father, a big smile on his face even despite the stern expression that the king bore.

\- You missed your classes, Angus.

\- I am sorry, father! I could not stand being inside, listening to those old men on such a beautiful day!

\- It is important that you study, is it not clear? – if there had ever been anything soft about the king’s voice, it had been long ago. – How can you expect to be a good king, otherwise?

\- There will always be time for that later, father.

\- Angus, - the king sighed, - it is not easy to bear the crown. I pray to the gods of Dundee every day, that you will understand it. I have my responsibilities, you have yours.

\- Yes, father, I know that.

\- You disappoint me.

\- Yes, father.

Angus lowered his sight. It did not escape Ser Proletius that the prince, just like the guards and the staff, avoided looking the king in the eyes, when he should have been the one able to do so, on the behalf of being the crown prince and the heir to the Crystalline throne. The bubbly, confident teenager from before was gone, and left was a small, penitent child.

\- I am sorry.

\- All we do for you, is done out of love, and you know it.

\- Yes, father.

If Angus were able to, he would have most likely sunk into the ground right now, Proletius thought.

\- Ser Proletius, - the king addressed the Hologram Hero of Light, - I trust everything is to your liking?

\- Yes, Your Majesty. Everything is just fine.

\- Very good, - the king cleared his throat, before speaking again. – I am going to need you to add a few sentences to your speech, if that is not too much to ask for.

\- Of course, Your Majesty. Everything you need.

\- I need you to inspire the soldiers. We are at the brink of a new conflict.

\- A conflict, father? – Angus interrupted, the results of the battle from just a week ago still fresh in his memory, and Ser Proletius felt sorry for him, when the lad was going to, inevitably, find out the truth about just _how_ horrifying such experiences were.

No stories, history lessons, or eye witness accounts could quite prepare for it.

\- Two hours ago, goblinoids attacked one of our bases on Mars. The troops will set out tonight. It will be a strike these animals will not forget so soon!

\- You want to kill them?

All of the bubbly joy was, at once, gone from the prince’s voice, an alarmed expression settling on his face.

The goblinoids were a forever plague of the Empire of Fife. Always had been, their fierce anger and ridiculous stubbornness doing them a disservice when it came to the moment when they would be better off standing back or surrendering. Most people agreed that the green-skinned humanoids were a bane of the universe as a whole, and the anti-goblinoid sentiments and, subsequently, discrimination, run wild in the empire even without the occasional raids these pests pulled off, and they were seen as a cheap labour force, at best, and cannon meat, at worst, and anyone who dared to speak in their defence would be considered faulty in the head. Having started out as mere nuisance, over the last decade these creatures had, however, become more and more savage and somehow better coordinated at the same time, and the king and his advisors alike suspected somebody else was behind them, their suspicion falling on the strange sect calling themselves the Chaos Wizards, which King Angus would gladly pay a fast and violent visit to, were it only known where their headquarters were located.

It was clear from the expression that graced the king’s face, that the prince did not care for such trivialities, and, even more, that such occurrences were not rare.

\- Are you questioning me?

The king’s voice had grown cold, like it had not been before, and even the late Grand Master of Crail, despite his existence as a hologram, could feel how the atmosphere around them changed, as though the seasons had changed suddenly and without a warning. The prince did not appear bothered by it, Proletius noted, and that was, in his books, a good trait of the next king, if he stood in the face of something clearly more powerful than himself and refused to back down.

\- I did not mean to show disrespect, father, I am merely wondering. Is there no other option? I am sure we could negotiate with them.

\- We do not negotiate with the goblinoids! – the king snarled. – They kill us by hundreds!

\- And we kill them! We’re the ones who went into their land! They just fight back, we should—

The backhand strike was strong enough for the sound to echo in the courtyard, as well as force the prince to turn halfway to the side. Without a word, the king turned, crossed the yard with long, slow steps and disappeared into the building. What few staff members and guards were there, stood in confusion for a moment, before simultaneously deciding they had not seen anything and carrying on with their day.

The prince stood right where his father had left him, his shoulders trembling in what threatened to turn into a fit of crying, before the lad gathered himself and stood straight again, his chin up, with a defiant, stubborn expression on his face even though his lower lip trembled suspiciously. His left cheek was red, the force put into the strike clearly visible.

\- Your Highness! – the Hologram Hero of Light approached Prince Angus hurriedly.

The obnoxious noise that the spider-drone made was so out of place in the courtyard’s silence that, deep down in his power core, Ser Proletius wished he disappeared from the face of the earth this instant.

\- Are you alright?

Angus turned to look at him, his eyes foggy, and it appeared, for a second, that the Crown Prince of Dundee was going to break down, before he forced the tears back, and a smile onto his face.

\- Yes, everything’s fine, thank you, Grand Master. If you’ll excuse me, now.

He gave the hologram a quick bow, before turning on his heel. In a moment, the late Grand Master of Crail was left alone in the middle of the courtyard.


	2. Son

Second time Ser Proletius had met the thirteenth Crown Prince of Dundee, it had been in a large, crowded hall, and the lad’s face had been expressionless, and it easily passed off as grief, even as his eyes were dry, as he had listened to the empty words of condolences offered by the nobles and foreign dignitaries that approached, one by one, the crystalline coffin and the royal family standing guard at it in the twilight, and bowed his head time and again, in a theatrical expression of gratitude. The noble ambassadors had then proceeded into the halls beyond where a feast, drinks, and a party waited for them, leaving the queen and the prince to one last night of the Wake.

Older and resembling his father even more (even more so now that somebody had forced him to slick his hair back, in an attempt to make His Highness look acceptable for the event), Angus had been standing there, his head held high, back straight, with hands clasped behind it, as he had stared into the depths of the hall while the staff members had dimmed the lights until the hall was almost completely dark and left the Hologram Hero of Light the brightest thing in the room. Not a muscle had been moving on the prince’s face, and it was difficult to guess what he was thinking about, for he had appeared to be somewhere very, very far away at the moment.

***

With the regular scurrying around that usually followed the official part of any event, Ser Proletius was, at the moment, left to wander the halls of the Mighty Citadel of Dundee on his own. At least now, he mused himself, he was not relying on an obnoxious loud drone on eight legs crawling behind him like a spider wherever he went, but rather a small, spherical one that hovered in the air soundlessly, dutifully taking the Hologram Hero of Light wherever he wished to go. So far away from the main hall and feast where the ambassadors, nobles, and other important guests were busy downing glasses of drinks and plates of food and calling for the staff to bring them a refill or another helping, the rooms and the corridors were eerily quiet and void of life. The mirrors – and there was an abundance of them in the citadel – stood like mourning ghosts draped in black fabric from head to toe, and the few of the staff members whom the late Grand Master of Crail saw on his way walked softly and spoke in low whisper. It was a hot evening, not a cloud in the sky, and the doors to the balconies and terraces stood open, curtains moving in faint breeze, and somewhere an obnoxious nightingale sat on the bannisters, singing to its little heart’s content, with no regards for the feelings of the people in the citadel, or for the hologram that joined it on the balcony.

The city below was alive with cheerful buzz, just like large cities tend to be, the lights stark against the dim sky as people and vehicles hurried through the streets as though nothing had happened and they had not just lost their monarch, and Ser Proletius did not take it upon himself to wonder how many more cities like this one were there in the empire, and in how many of them people went about their lives just like here and did not care for anything that happened behind high walls and in large halls. Somewhere far away, on the other side of the galaxy, he had been informed, two armies were about to clash and a lot of people were about to die, and it bothered the ones in the feast hall below just as little as _their_ problems bothered the people in the city below.

A door opening and closing made the knight turn, and, curious, he noticed light in the room at the end of the corridor. The bird still paid no attention both to the hologram as well as the mysterious inhabitant of the floor, and everything else continued to go its way in the city, and he figured he might as well go and see who the late walker had been.

Prince Angus was sitting on the floor of the balcony outside his rooms, head rested against the wall behind him, and he would have been staring into the stars above, had there been any and not just the dull sky, made so by the lights of the city and the citadel itself. He had, at some point between Ser Proletius’ leaving the hall and this moment, managed to ruin his hair so that it once again reminded of a bird’s nest. Proletius wondered if he should say something about it.

\- Your Highness, - Proletius spoke, and “His Highness” flinched. Indeed, along with losing the obnoxious spider-drone, the hologram had gained the element of surprise. – Forgive me, I should have warned about my arrival.

\- It’s okay, Ser Proletius. Still out and about, so late?

\- Yes, Your Highness. Is something the matter?

\- Prince Angus.

\- Of course, Y— Prince Angus. Are you okay?

\- Are there things that you hate doing? – the prince answered the question, with another question, similar to the one he had asked the first time they met.

\- I am afraid I don’t understand, Your Highness? – Ser Proletius fixed his uniform, by sheer custom rather than necessity, simply to win more time.

\- Are there things you hate doing? – Angus gestured at the floor, and the hologram took place next to him, first standing, then opting for sitting down, for it did not do, not to be on the eye level with the person one was talking to.

\- Well, - Ser Proletius smiled – or, at least he hoped he did, for he was never given much time to adjust to an existence as a hologram, before he was sent back into the darkness, once his services were no longer needed and he became obsolete, - I hate listening to nobles and ambassadors speaking empty words. If there’s one thing I learned while I was still alive, it’s that people like that are empty windbags who just want to butter up to you and take advantage of your position.

\- I thought the former Grand Master of Crail would not be one to parrot! – it was clear the answer had disappointed the prince greatly.

\- But I am not, Prince Angus. I do not like people who smile in your face and offer empty words. They are the ones you can expect to drive a knife through your back once it’s turned. Upset them with one word, and next you know is them throwing you under the carriage. I am glad I was not expected to partake in the feast. I am far too honest to mingle among them. It was simpler, back in my time.

\- How was it? – the prince visibly cheered up; apparently, the answer had been to his liking. – When you were… well, you know?

\- Alive? Well, it was simple. The customs among the nobles have changed, mighty so, since my death. There was a lot more quarrelling and fighting, among clans, but for that you could always know what to expect of them.

\- As if there aren’t any now! – the prince chuckled. – You should hear the royal advisors! If they were allowed to, they would tear each other to pieces! Tharon-Zul in particular. Man, I get the creeps every time I have to be in the same room as him.

\- I remember one with that name, from when your grandfather was the king.

\- Oh, their family has been advising the hell out of us, for a few centuries! A long, long line of Tharon-Zuls, all equally stuck up. Even their kids. Ask Hoots, he knows more than I do, he’s been around ever since before the Unicorn Invasion.

Ser Proletius wondered just what was so special about a loudmouth barbarian from Unst, that the gods favoured him enough to not only make him the King of California, in addition to his title of the King of Unst, but also to bestow the gift of eternal life and youth upon him.

He reckoned, however, that it had to be a very lonely existence, if he himself was anything to go by. You watched everybody you loved and cared about die, and there was nothing you could do but keep going. He did not know how many times since he had been awakened the first time had he himself mourned those who had passed like it was the first time, before the wizards had finally been able to preserve his memories the way they were – and yet it still hurt, even now, to know they were all gone and he was the only one left and would be, for the eternity.

\- Ser Proletius? – when he spoke again, the prince’s voice was silent, almost meek, as he addressed the late Grand Master of Crail.

\- Yes, Prince Angus?

\- Can you tell me about father?

\- I am afraid, not, - Proletius, nonetheless, felt a tinge of remorse, as he answered. - I’m not usually given the chance to stay for long enough to make acquaintances among the family; just for the inspirational speech, or the funeral. Besides, isn’t the son supposed to know more about the man who raised him, than an old hologram does?

\- Teachers and caretakers raised me. He, he was a distant, cold man. Mother says he showed love in his own ways, so I suppose that should count for something. I wish I would feel anything. I wish I could cry. But I can’t. I wish we could see the stars, from here!

\- I imagine there might be some problems with that, Prince Angus, - Ser Proletius courteously ignored how sudden the change in the topic had been, for it was clearly not all that easy to speak of, for the prince.

\- There’s just so much light here, you can barely see any of them. You can see them on other planets, and in space, but… that’s not the same. I’ve seen in pictures, that the galaxy is visible from Earth, but I’ve never seen it myself like that. Hoots says you have to travel really far out into the Highlands, to see it, and I’ve never had the chance to. Have _you_ seen it?

\- Oh yes, Prince Angus, I know just what you’re talking about. It looks like a shiny road, but up in the sky. I used to see it, a lot, back when I was a simple knight. Was sent on a lot of night quests. Mostly just scouting the perimeter.

\- And you liked that?

\- Oh, heavens, no! – the late Grand Master of Crail laughed at the memory. – I used to get disciplined a lot! The night watch was the worst punishment you could get. You’re tired, your eagle is grumpy as all hell, and it’s cold up there. But now I have to admit, it did have its charm. There was nothing else but the night sky, you, your eagle, and the land far below.

\- Sounds wonderful. I wish I could see that.

\- Who knows what the future holds for you, Prince Angus.

\- Oh, I _know_ what it holds, - Angus pouted. – I’ll be His Majesty, the King of the Intergalactic Empire of Fife, until my last dying breath. Spare me the words. I have been told, by everybody, that there are great things in my future. Don’t need to hear that again.

\- Well, as the Crown Prince of Dundee, I suppose that is true, Your Highness. Yours is a famous, mighty bloodline—

\- And I must do everything in my powers to do justice to my name and my family, _I get that_ , - the prince interrupted him. – I hear that every day! Twice! Meanwhile, I can’t… _fuck!_ \- Angus pulled his knees to his chest. – I am the future king, and I can’t even choose how to live my own life! Everything’s pre-written! Do this! Do that! Go there! Come here! Sit! Speak! Roll over! _Damn it!_ Can’t even have a girlfriend, or… never mind. Mother’s got, like, twenty potential spouses already lined up for me! Don’t do this! Don’t do that! Smile! Pretend you’re happy! Pretend you’re good! Pretend you’re okay! _I’m not okay! Nothing_ is okay! It feels like I’m living somebody else’s life, and it’s like I’m standing there, screaming, and nobody hears it! I know what my future holds! It’ll be full of war, meetings, negotiations, and death. Travel here, travel there, so people know their monarch is with them! Wield the hammer, fight the war, come home victorious! Pretend things are okay!

\- And what do _you_ want, Prince Angus?

\- I don’t know what I want. But, I must be keeping you from your own business, Grand Master, - the future king rose from the floor, fixed his attire, straightened his back and forced a painful smile onto his lips; one that did not reach his eyes, regardless of how much he tried. – I bid you goodnight.


	3. Heir

Third time Ser Proletius had met the thirteenth Crown Prince of Dundee, it had been in a small room next to a large, crowded hall. Angus McFife-soon-to-be-XIII had gazed into the mirror hung on the wall and tried his best to force a smile upon his face as he simultaneously exchanged jokes with those present. His smile had been bitter, but he had tried his best to force all the sadness and disappointment, and hurt back where it belonged and put up a careless, benevolent façade. One did not show this kind of smile to his loyal subjects. One did not let anyone know such smile had ever been near his face.

Angus had tried again, and it had looked better, this time. Not as strained as it had been the first time. The royal attendants had been everywhere around him, putting in an almost inhuman effort to have their new monarch look the part, the royal hairdresser in particular, eager to make sure everything was perfect on this day. The queen had made an entrance, then, and the staff had scurried away, and she had meticulously fixed the collar of her son’s shirt and cupped his face in her hands, and spoken in that very calm, silent voice she would use when addressing a small child, of his duty and destiny, and responsibilities in front of the empire, and Angus had joked, but, as the queen left, there had been a heavy burden on his shoulders, and, as he had addressed the late Grand Master of Crail, there had been a lot of false bravado in his voice and appearance.

***

The hall was decorated in the most lavish manner, the banners of Fife everywhere included, and, despite its size, it appeared ridiculously small, now that the guests who had come from near and far to witness with their own eyes, the coronation of the new monarch, had piled into it, all eyes on the small platform where the cleric had taken his place a few minutes ago. The royal guard stood to attention, lined up at the wall around the room, interchanged with soldiers in strange armour with sigils of rearing unicorns on them that Proletius had never seen before. The Hootsman had, earlier in the morning when the guests only started arriving, explained that these were the famed Unicorn Defenders, or the Questlords of Inverness, but had withheld any further information. The late Grand Master of Crail suspected it was due to nobody really knowing who or what these people presented of themselves in reality.

Proletius let his sight wander across the crowd. Nobles and dignitaries from different parts of the world and the galaxy. Ambassadors from friendly-disposed kingdoms. A group of astral dwarves (the late Grand Master of Crail had no idea why they were referred to with such name, but he figured it was not his place to inquire further on the topic) were keeping to themselves in one corner, as hostile towards humans as ever, and the Hologram Hero of Light felt relief that they, unlike the goblins, were ready to fight on Dundee’s side, should such need arise, for very few people were unaware of the strength and skill of their warriors. A group of ten dwarves, a legend spoke, had been able to hold back the onslaught of a goblin army on the side of the River Tay until help arrived.

At one point, he noticed a cloaked figure in one of the alcoves. The figure also noticed him, at least Proletius thought so, for the man – Proletius was unable to place him anywhere in the time and space he had lived or been summoned to, but there was something at the back of his mind that told him that he knew this person – turned and flashed a grin at the late Grand Master of Crail, before disappearing into the crowd, and Proletius was left none the wiser about this mysterious fellow than he had been before.

In any case, the Hologram Hero of Light was not given the time to ponder on this for long, as the cleric gave a sign, and the large door at the end of the hall opened.

The thirteenth Crown Prince of Dundee walked towards the small elevation, his steps slow, his back straight, his chin up, a smile on his face. And in his eyes, there was the expression of a condemned man. Indeed, he appeared less a future monarch walking towards his destiny and more a convict walking to his execution. Everybody present stared, and, somewhere to the far right, the Hootsman cheered and hooted, and gave the prince two thumbs up over the crowd, with that causing Angus to almost lose his composure for a moment, before the prince remembered where he was and the same empty smile settled on his lips.

Ser Proletius did not care much for the ceremony, once everybody had kneeled along with the prince. He heard the cleric speak. He heard Prince Angus answer the questions asked. He heard the royal oath that had remained the same over the centuries. He heard somebody’s inappropriately loud sniffs and sobs, and he did not need to look up, to know that fault at this was, _again_ , the Hootsman, who put all of his skills into making his performance as dramatic as it could possibly be, on the behalf of the fact that nobody would dare to tell the Barbarian King of Unst (and California) to shut up.

The oath was finished, and the late Grand Master of Crail looked up. The cleric held the crown above the prince’s head, and not a single person in the hall appeared to be aware of the empty look Angus kept directed to the floor, or the twitch of his shoulders when the fur trimming of the crown touched his forehead.

\- With this, I crown thee—

\- Your Highness!

The door slammed open, eliciting a loud gasp from those gathered and making even the guards jump a little, and a man came running down the red carpet in the middle of the hall, gesticulating wildly.

\- Your Highness! Your Highness! An emergency!

The messenger crossed the hall, passed the royal guard who formed a circle around the platform, then he was next to the prince and whispering something into his ear. Ser Proletius saw how the prince’s facial expression changed. In a second, Angus shoved away the cleric together with the crown and proceeded towards the small door in the corner of the hall, giving the messenger a sign to follow. The queen caught up with her son, catching him by the sleeve, and clearly inquired as to what was more important than the most important ceremony in his entire life, and, having received an answer spoken in low whisper, was left standing, covering her mouth with one hand, staring after the prince with a fearful look on her face. On the other side of the hall, the Hootsman was making his way towards the door as well, unceremoniously pushing the honourable guests out of his way, and Ser Proletius did not bother checking where he himself was walking, either, his state of a hologram allowing him to pass right through people if only he wished it so.

They reached the door approximately at the same time, walked down the small corridor outside, turned around the corner and into the secret passage connecting this part of the citadel with the War Room.

Angus was sitting at the table at the very end of the War Room, head in his hands, his hair once again akin to a bird’s nest. There was a holographic screen hovering in front of him that showed rows of symbols and pictures, and it appeared that these symbols and pictures were the very thing that had caused the agitation.

The prince raised his head when he noticed the two men in the room, alarm on his youthful face.

\- Prince Angus, - Ser Proletius addressed him.

\- What’s the matter, lad? – the Hootsman was ever the impolite, uncouth boor who cared just as little about manners as the manners cared about him and preferred to get to the root of the problem at once.

\- Ser Proletius, - Angus did not seem to pay attention to the barbarian. The Crown Prince of Dundee took a deep breath, before he continued. – I am sorry. I have bad news.

***

Things had gone downhill from there. Forget “gone”; they had practically galloped at the speed of a unicorn with its tail set on fire.

Ser Proletius had never even dared to entertain the thought about the Knights of Crail being defeated. Everybody knew they had never lost a single battle. Throughout the centuries, they had been a force to reckon with, to any enemy that dared set their eyes on the Kingdom (later Empire; even later Intergalactic Empire) of Fife, and had kept the realm safe.

Within a mere couple of hours, the order had been annihilated, leaving just one member, aside from Ser Proletius himself. Only an hour later had the messenger arrived, bearing the news. Two hours had passed as they tried to take up contact with just about anyone who might have survived the onslaught, while the queen had tried to calm down the people gathered. An hour after the guests had cleared out of the large hall, it had been clear that the instigators of this treacherous, vile attack were the same cult proudly calling themselves the Chaos Wizards, which Angus McFife XII had tried and failed to eradicate. Half an hour later, masks had fallen, as it became clear that royal advisors and other people close to the family, including, but not limited to, Tharon-Zul, were missing, gone amidst the chaos. Or they had never been there, never attending the ceremony, having gone and left doubles in their places – a feat easy to pull off, for wizards in particular.

Then had come what the Hootsman later described as a bomb being dropped.

Angus had sat, with head in his hands, his shoulders trembling suspiciously, his coronation attire ruffled and messy, like a bad masquerade replica of itself, as the Crown Prince of Dundee had listened to the report the sole survivor had been able to give. There had been a tremble in the knight’s – Ser Proletius believed his name was Regulon, or something like that – voice, as he had informed his liege of the wizard’s true intentions that had led them to storming and laying waste to the keep of the Spaceknights of Crail on Triton, and Ser Proletius, even despite his existence as a hologram, had felt the claws of cold dread clutch his heart.

So much horror, terror, and fear, accumulated in these three simple words:

“Zargothrax has escaped.”

In the morning, the citadel had been in a commotion due to the approaching coronation ceremony.

Eight hours after the coronation that did not take place, it had been declared to those originally gathered for the ceremony, and the people in all parts of the realm who waited to greet their monarch, that the Intergalactic Empire of Fife was now at war.

***

Time appeared to stand still, after the stranger – the same stranger, he noted, whom the Grand Master of Crail had seen in the hall at the Citadel of Dundee right before the ill-fated coronation ceremony began – had finished speaking. He noted the expression of dread and anguish frozen on the faces of everybody present.

The air quivered around them, visibly so, as though waves of an ocean washed across the space. A demon somewhere high above their heads screeched in pain, joined by thousands of other voices of its brethren, and the space eagles followed their example, and Ser Proletius questioned what exactly had made them into the beings they were, for it seemed strange they would reach the exact same way.

\- But that means—

Angus’ voice was squeaky, not a trace of the warrior in him that had been present both in his appearance and his voice for the past few months.

\- By all the gods! All those people! Do you understand what you are asking of us?!

\- I do, - the stranger replied, his voice calm and silent, as though he were talking about the weather, not the annihilation of billions of lives, - but it is the only way. If he is not stopped now, everyone everywhere will die.

\- But… NO! – Angus raised his voice, as though it would change anything about the dark wizard’s plans, or the fact that a tremendous sacrifice was required, to put an end to them. – No! This… this is wrong! There has to be another way!

\- Angus, - before Ser Proletius could intervene, the Hootsman placed his heavy hand on the prince’s shoulder, - there is no other way. Trust me, I know this guy. If there were, he would tell us.

\- But—

\- So, - the Barbarian King of Unst interrupted the prince, as he addressed the one, he had simply referred to as “hermit”, - you’re saying the only thing that _can_ get through and tear that shit into shreds and pieces, preferably together with that cunt, is – what? The power of a neutron star? Well, here I am, then.

\- I’m going, too! – Angus shook himself free, the Hammer of Glory grasped tight in his hands, the sigil on its sides ablaze. – This is my realm! My responsibility!

\- Angus, man, with all due respect towards your imperial highnessness, - the Hootsman shoved him back, gently, - there’s nothing you can do at the moment. ‘sides, you can’t expect I’ll let you rake all the glory of being a hero! What will my fans think?

Ser Proletius watched Angus struggle against the hand of the hermit’s that now lay gently, yet surprisingly firm, on his shoulder, as the Hootsman disappeared direction Earth. He noted the man was whispering something into the prince’s ear.

Another wave of dark energy washed across them, stronger than anything they had felt before. Everybody present recoiled, and even the Hologram Hero of Light felt how it shook him to the core.

The flash of light was no bigger than a star in the night sky, and


End file.
